Clear As An Azure Sky of Deepest Summer
by Twonk
Summary: I bet you missed me, your friend and humble narrator. Bet you're wondering if I'm still that badiwad malchick that caused all those people O so much pain. No- I said I'll reform, and reform I shall. Dear Bog in heaven and all that cal.
1. Chapter 1

Welcome back, O my brothers. I bet you've missed me, your dearest friend and humble narrator. Bet you've been wondering what I've got up to all these years, me being such a badiwad malchickiwick. Just thinking about them times O not so long ago, brings back all the terrible memories, my brothers. Me going under horrible tortures of perverts, vonny bastards, and bezoomy techniques that were meant to turn me from bad little Alex to real horrorshow. It still brings tears to my glazzies, remembering how good old Ludwig van was violated and made from choodessny to all grazzy in my gulliver. I still wake at night and I creech real gromky, just dreaming about those terrible times of my childhood. My wife, she thinks that I'll try and snuff it. If only I could my brothers. But I said I'd reform, and reform I shall.

So I got out of hospital, all them years ago, and promised to be the son I never was for my pee and em. I got up early in the mornings and made them cups of the old chai, went out to work to line my pockets with pretty polly- I worked until my rookers were sore and all ready to drop off. My good starry mum soon snuffed it, my friends, and went under the ground. I wish I could say I was sorry, but after she'd gone I felt real horrorshow. She was starry like, and she was a reminder of the past. My dad, he was razdraz for ages, boohooing at church and at home, and I had to make him feel all better. I wiped the tears from his litso, spent all my pretty polly on special platties for him at the height of starry fashion. He was very grateful: "Thank you lad," but I heard him cry out his guttiwuts at night.

I got my job at that old music shop MELODIA. It didn't pay much, my friends, but I was grateful for the cutter as I could no longer crast what I wanted. The Millicents were watching me lads, and would be for the rest of my humble life. I've lead a miserable existence, but any existence is better than none I've been told, and all that cal. So there I was, selling records of beautiful, beautiful music, and then I saw her. A youngish devotchka, sucking on a cancer, and looking at a record of the ninth symphony- Ludwig van. She was good looking too, with horrorshow groodies, big glazzies and a big, wide rot. I remembered the old life and the in-out-in-out. I thought of my new life and how I could lubbilubb to her, and get married and have lots of children. I am at marrying age. So I decided to speak to this devotchka, and see if she was as lovely as she viddied.

"Good morning, could I help you?" I made sure I spoke the Queen's English, my friends, as nothing gives a ptitsa greater pleasure.

"No thank you," the devotchka barely looked at me, though her galoss was real warm and silky. I tried again, my brothers, but my heart was already heavy.

"I'm partial myself to a bit of Ludwig van, is he a favourite of yours?" I realised I sounded gloopy, talking to this ptitsa who was perfect stranger. But she answered, friends, and it was music to my ears.

"He was the greatest man that ever lived."

As soon as she said those slovos I began to feel that old feeling of real horrorshow and happy. It was like good old Bog in heaven was looking after me at last, watching over like, and giving me a reward for all my hard work. I felt like falling to my knees and creeching to the sky, that I, little Alex, had found a horrorshow devotchka, and a potential soul mate.

Oh yes, your humble narrator had fallen in love. And if I could manage it, this ptitsa would soon be putty in my humble rookers.


	2. Chapter 2

This was the life my friends. Sitting at home and knowing that your love and destiny is only a thought away. My pee was still razdrez over my old mother, but in my hour of lovely love, I didn't care. Like a dream, I floated upstairs and into my humble bedroom. The bed greeted me like a long lost brother, and I was glad to sink into it's warm depths and think like a thoughtful little chelloveck. But my padoosha was so comfortable, and my gulliver was so heavy, I fell right asleep, friends, without even having to turn on the old Ludwig Van.

It was the bestest spachka I ever had, dreaming of that strange ptitsa with her rot all smiley and nicey-wicey. I'd fallen brothers, and I'd fallen hard. What was little Alex to do?

***

I worked back at the old MELODIA the next day, trying to see if she'd be back again. If she was interested, she'd be there, and why would she not be, O friends? Little Alex is a very handsome man.

I waited, and I waited, smiling all over my litso at customers, taking in the cutter and putting it in the till, waiting and waiting. Yet she did not show, my brothers, not that whole day. In the record player, I put on the old Ninth symphony in the hope that she would hear it and come running. I lost a lot of customers. People like that gloopy pop musik, and do not appreciate genius. One minute old MELODIA was full, the next it was empty. So I decided to bog off home.

I wasn't feeling too horrorshow, to be honest. Life had gone back to dully-wull, and my shilamy for that devotchka had drowned in my new found depression. I thought life was getting back on track, on that 'good old road'. I made pee and em try to be proud, then what did em do? Go six feet under and push up the daisies. Dear Bog in heaven, there really is no justice for old criminals. Suddenly scared I was going to start boo-hooing in the street, I slipped into the old Korovo Milkbar, to get myself a nice cold glass.

I hadn't had moloko since I got out of hospital, my friends, and I'm sorry to say the effects gave me a bit of a shock. My guttiwuts pained me something terrible, but it wasn't like I'd ordered a strong one, friends. It was society, getting out of control and slipping drugs into everything. Only half finished, I stood up and my knees were shaking like no other. Me glazzies felt tired and weary, like I hadn't had sleep for three or four days. It reminded me of old times, of danger, of the old drugged up gang. For a second, in my bezoomy state and my depression, I felt quite spoogy. I could find another gang. Maybe I wasn't the marrying kind after all. Maybe I could go and find the old rozzers, slit a few throats with me britva, have a real good time again.

I remembered the devotchka. She might show tomorrow. And my father. He needed me.

So, like a good malchickiwick, I went back to my modest abode, smile on, ready to cheer up starry old pee and make him a nice cup of hot chai. See, I was a nice son now, you could rely on me all right.

It didn't happen quite like that. As I pushed open the door, I could feel something strange. Like, something wasn't all that horrorshow after all.

"I've come home, O mein Vater!" I wasn't liking this at all, brothers, not one lickle bit. "Dad, where art thou?!" I tried very hard to stay calm and not get all panicky as that would never do. Perhaps pee had just gone out into the garden, or to spend some pretty polly in the highstreet. Perhaps he had gone to get his job back, as he'd lost it a few months before. But I couldn't swallow that poogly feeling I had, a feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

I found him soon, my friends, irretrievably. He was hanging in the bathroom; no krovvy, just a sad old man on the end of a rope. He'd written a note for me, three words on a little piece of scrappy-wap paper. _I'm sorry Alex. _

"I'm sorry too, pee." I gave a little smeck at my joke, though not out of being happy, but out of fear. I'd killed before, my brothers, all those years ago. What if the rozzers thought I'd killed again and I went back into that vonny old staja?

So I left, friends. I left starry dead pee where he was and I fled into the night. I'd said I'd become the son I never was for pee and em, and now both of them were dead. What was the point in reform? What was the point in being a good lickle boy, never mind that I was now twenty. In this cally, grazzy jeenzy it was the old way, or no way. And if you don't like it, you can kiss my sharries.


End file.
